rd the voice of Mr. Petulengro calling
me. I went up again to the encampment, where I found Mr. Petulengro, his
wife, and Tawno Chikno, ready to proceed to church. Mr. and Mrs.
Petulengro were dressed in Roman fashion, though not in the full-blown
manner in which they had paid their visit to Isopel and myself. Tawno
had on a clean white slop, with a nearly new black beaver, with very
broad rims, and the nap exceedingly long. As for myself, I was dressed
in much the same manner as that in which I departed from London, having
on, in honour of the day, a shirt perfectly clean, having washed one on
purpose for the occasion, with my own hands, the day before, in the pond
of tepid water in which the newts and defts were in the habit of taking
their pleasure. We proceeded for upwards of a mile, by footpaths through
meadows and corn-fields; we crossed various stiles; at last, passing over
one, we found ourselves in a road, wending along which for a considerable
distance, we at last came in sight of a church, the bells of which had
been tolling distinctly in our ears for some time; before, however, we
reached the church-yard, the bells had ceased their melody. It was
surrounded by lofty beech-trees of brilliant green foliage. We entered
the gate, Mrs. Petulengro leading the way, and proceeded to a small door
near the east end of the church. As we advanced, the sound of singing
within the church rose upon our ears. Arrived at the small door, Mrs.
Petulengro opened it and entered, followed by Tawno Chikno. I myself
went last of all, following Mr. Petulengro, who, before I entered, turned
round, and, with a significant nod, advised me to take care how I
behaved. The part of the church which we had entered was the chancel; on
one side stood a number of venerable old men--probably the neighbouring
poor--and on the other a number of poor girls belonging to the village
school, dressed in white gowns and straw bonnets, whom two elegant but
simply dressed young women were superintending. Every voice seemed to be
united in singing a certain anthem, which, notwithstanding it was written
neither by Tate nor Brady, contains some of the sublimest words which
were ever put together, not the worst of which are those which burst on
our ears as we entered:

"Every eye shall now behold Him,
Robed in dreadful majesty;
Those who set at nought and sold Him,
Pierced and nailed Him to the tree,
Deeply wailing,